Six Merry Murderers of Tulsa
by xkookypandax
Summary: The Cell Block Tango-Outsiders style. Five greasers and one soc tell their testamonies. They're really good people, they just had to do a bad thing.
1. Pop: Sodapop Curtis

**_AN:_ K, so...first Outsiders fic. Second crossover song fic. It's the Cell Block Tango, but the Outsiders boys (and one Soc!) are telling their testomonies. Why were these 'innocent' victims murdered? Why did our beloved greasers (and one Soc) do it? Well...find out. I don't own the CBT or The Outsiders.**

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Sodapop Curtis. I don't resent my name. In fact, I like it. I really do. It makes me…well, me.

But those Socs, man, they have no mercy. They don't jump me as much as the other boys-I can't take 'em if they do, anyway - but they just don't jump me as much. I would think they would. I mean, their broads are always flirtin' with me, anyway.

But boy, they jump all over my name.

They don't make jokes about it too much, but geeze, the way the pronounce it. Can't say why, but it's like a dagger to the chest.

Soda_pop. _Soda_pop._ Ya gunna wash that grease out, Soda_pop? Pop. Pop. Pop._

So this one day, my girl, Sandy, throws a party. For a some reason totally beyond me, she let a few Socs in. I told her not to, but she did.

But, like a greaser should, I stuck to my own business and payed them no mind. I wasn't lookin' for trouble that night.

So this one Soc, Ernie Smith, asks me to toss him a Coke. Like I said, I wasn't lookin' for no trouble. So I toss him his Coke.

"Thanks, Soda_pop."_ He said. I cringed, but I continued to keep to myself.

He came up behind me, real close, and popped of the bottle cap right next to my ear.

_Pop._

He took his friend's unopened soda and did the same.

_Pop._

I spun around and grabbed him by the collar.

"You pop a soda one. More. Time…" I growled at him.

And he did.

_So I took the shotgun off the wall and fired two warning shots. Into his head._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he had it comin' all along._

_I didn't do it, but if I'd done it,_

_How could you tell me that I was wrong?_

* * *


	2. Six: TwoBit Mathews

**_A/N: _I really like how pop turned out...Anyway, this is Six. Done by Two-Bit Mathews :D I have Squish and Uh-Uh already written, but I gotta save them to my computer before I finish.  
I hope you're liking this as much as I like writing it. Please review. Reviews are the source of my writing power. That's why this one came out so quickly :)**

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

Six…

Alcohol. Can't say why, but I like it. I like it a lot. A lot of the guys around our neighborhood do, actually. I think that's one thing us greasers and the Socs have in common-most of us like to drink.

I'll go out on weekends, some weekdays, and go out somewhere, to the Dingo or something', and just drink a few beers. I'll mess around, have my fun, and be done.

But, see, there was once this smart guy who made up a term. That term is called 'expressions'. Whether they're stupid or just plain blunt, expressions are usually right and if you had a brain, you'd listen to 'em.

This one expression comes to my mind a lot when I drink. It goes something' like this:

Sometimes, you can have too much of a good thing.

That good thing can be different for everyone. For Steve, it's chocolate cake. For Ponyboy, I'd have to say it's those movies and books he digs so much. For me, that good thing is alcohol.

Everyone, and I mean _everyone_ knows I got a limit. That limit is six. Six beers for me could be trouble. You can hear people say so, too, when they introduce me. After they say I'm funny they add, "That Two-Bit, man, six beers and he's gone."

It goes like this-one or two don't effect me much. Three to four can make me tipsy and sillier than normal, which is good if ya want a laugh. Five is when I'm drunk. I do stupid stuff. Crawl under a girl's skirt and stay there 'till she kicks me, jump on a café table and sing. Ya know, stuff like that. Six though…six and I can be bad. Six and I can be dangerous. I remember the first time I had six, just to see if I could, and I almost killed a guy. If Darry and Soda hadn't have been there, well…

So the other night, this one greaser from the next street over invites me to go mess around. Cruise the drive-ins, maybe. His name was Mikey Nagarelli and I had hung around him a few times before. Enough for him to understand plain and simple about my drinking limit.

We were having a good time. Flirted with girls (which got us a smack with some purses), hopped from car to car, even caught a clip of a movie.

I was keeping track of the amount of drinks I was having. I opened yet another and took one slug before I realized it-

Six.

Even as I was drunk, I could remember what beer I was on. I had to. For some guys, it was a matter of pride and whether or not they'd do something that would embarrass them. For me, it could be a matter of life or death.

Ironically, it ended up that way anyway.

I quickly put the drink away, back in Mikey's ice chest. That good for nothing…I didn't know what he was playing at, trying to give me more beer, 'cause believe me, anyone else would've begged me to stop. And he should know-the guy I almost killed last time was his brother. It wasn't a good idea, though. Not good at all.

I tried to sneak off without him seeing, but since he was obviously up to something, he caught me right away.

"I…gotta clean the kitchen for my ma," I said. A total lie. Mikey narrowed his eyes at me and I thought I had been caught.

But no.

He nodded at me and suggested we meet again tomorrow. And I agreed to that. By then I would have a plan.

So the next night, we met up. I never learned what he was up to that night, when he tried to give me too much alcohol. Good thing I have quick fingers or he would've noticed me slip away his beer for a few seconds.

_Ya know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he had it comin' all along._

_I didn't do it, but if I'd done it,_

_How could you tell me that I was wrong?_

* * *


	3. Squish: Steve Randle

**A/N: Chapter 3 so soon :D It's short. So far, this is the only one that has anything to do with the actually song, plot wise. Uh-uh may be up later tonight, actually. It's already written...Reviews w** **ould really help, too. I really like to know what you guys think is good and bad about the story. Thanks, and enjoy!**

* * *

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

Squish. Ha.

Man…Some people are just crazy, ya know? They get these whacky ideas in their head, and they leave ya thinking', 'What was goin' on in that guys' head?'

See, I was walkin' to work the other day, mindin' my own business, when a get a tap on my shoulder. I wasn't scared-if it were a Soc, they wouldn't be tappin' ya. You'd already be on the ground.

So I turn and see a real crazy: Curly Shepard.

I was really wonderin' what old Curly wanted with me. We don't talk much, after all. Sure, I'll chat with his brother on passing, but Curly…not so much.

Crazies, ya know?

Before I even get a decent 'Hey' in, he pushes me backward, catching me off guard a bit.

"You been screwin' my sister?"

I blinked. Had I been doing what with his who?

Angela? Angela _Shepard? _Ha, right. I can only imagine what the gang would say if they heard that one. I hate Angela. In fact, I don't know too many people who dig her too much.

"You hear me Steve? I asked, you been screwin' around with Angela?" Curly questioned again. He had is hand on his back pocket.

I'd like to tell him that Angela was with the worst of the greasy broads. I wanted to tell him that I had Evie and I wouldn't be happy with anyone else.

I wanted to tell him I hated his sister.

But if I had said any of that, it would give Curly a whole other reason to pin me down and kill me.

"Look man, I got a girlfriend. I ain't been seein' you're sister, dig?" I told him.

Curly definitely did not dig.

* * *

"Look, my brothers and I tolerate your gang just fine, but mess with our family, and it's personal, bub."

He pulled out his switchblade and put it under my chin.

"I'm gunna ask you one more time, Randle, and you better answer right-You been screwin' my sister?"

_Then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he had it comin' all along._

_I didn't do it, but if I'd done it,_

_How could you tell me that I was wrong?_


	4. UhUh: Randy

**AN: YAY! Chapter 4 already. I decided I'm gunna upload 1 chapter of this a day. They're so short, at least...  
I get the feeling that this doesn't have a lot of readers. Eh, it doesn't matter. I enjoy writing it.  
By the way, this is the only 100% canon chapter so far :) Please enjoy. It's the only one featuring a Soc.**

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

Uh-uh…Uh-uh…

Look, man, I don't know why I'm I'm even being questioned about this. I wouldn't kill Bob.

I couldn't.

He was my best friend. We did everything together. Sure, we made some bad choices, and we could be stupid sometimes, but I wouldn't have-couldn't have-killed him!

In this town, you need friends. You need a gang to back you up. Even when you're a Soc.

Look, we jump guys, I'll admit to that. But hey, that don't mean we don't get jumped every now and then, too.

Besides the fact that he was a great friend, that's why I needed Bob.

Tha's why I never would've killed him.

What? You don't believe me? That's what all those police said! Look, we just wanted a little fun, alright? Mess with those two kids a little. I mean, come on! They were with our girls! We weren't gunna kill 'em or nothing'. Just scare 'em a bit.

That Curtis boy needed a good scare.

And that one, the little nervous, frightened lookin' one with the scars, lost it! He killed Bob! Not me!

But no. No, no, no.

The police came to me first. Said I had been seen with him and I was the first and only suspect so far.

It scared me…They brought me in for questioning.

So they asked me, plain and simple:

"So, did ya do it?"

I was shocked. More than shocked. Speechless. I could barely use my voice. And when I did, not much came out. All that I could manage were three words.

_Uh-uh! Not. Guilty!_

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he had it comin' all along._

_I didn't do it, but if I'd done it,_

_How could you tell me that I was wrong?_


	5. Cicero: Dallas Winston

**A/N-Ha, I lied. I'm not doing a chapter of this a day :-p I had to finish my other fic first, and I finally did! (20 chapters...) Anyway, this is Dally doing Cicero which was Velma Kelly's part in Chicago. I figured since he actually did get cheated on, this would be appropriate.**

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

Cicero, man…

I'm not really one to get too hung up over chicks, ya know? No real point, cuz I know I'm never gunna go long distance with any of 'em. That ain't me.

But Silvia…well, she was alright. Pretty, and she always had a weird tolerance and patience for my temper and stuff. Yeah, she was a greasy thing, but that broad was alright. Even next to that Cherry chick, Silvia was some hot stuff, but not near as classy.

I gave her my ring. Even though I didn't care as much as she did, I decided to be nice and gave it to her. I'm not nice too often.

But that girl has a major flaw. She looks at other guys a lot.

Especially that one football player, Cicero. Tony Cicero.

Cicero is a greaser, too, but he's good at sports. I've seen him smoking and I'm amazed he can survive.

So you can understand how I'd have my suspicions about Silvia while I'm in the cooler. Lemme tell ya, I'm in the cooler a lot and in the short time I'm free, I see how Silvia and Cicero look at each other.

I don't like it one bit.

So last time I got out of jail, it was early. Good behavior. Imagine that. Me and good behavior don't normal mix, but I took it and ran.

I didn't tell Silvia I was out, though. That ended up being a good idea, for me at least. I wanted to surprise her.

I definitely surprised her, all right.

Her door is always unlocked for some reason. I tell her it's stupid but I barged right in anyway.

There they were, Cicero and Silvia, all over each other on the couch.

I was pissed. No girl two times me. I threw Cicero off of Silvia and ripped my ring off her neck. She fell off the couch, sobbing, but still, I couldn't bring myself to believe that a broad would even think to cheat on me.

It surprised me even more that some guy would let her, especially when he knew the consequences.

_Well, I was in such a state of shock, I completely blacked out, I don't remember a thing. It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he had it comin' all along._

_I didn't do it, but if I'd done it,_

_How could you tell me that I was wrong?_


	6. Lipschitz: Ponyboy Curtis

**A/N: YES. I finally finished. Can you believe it? I'm not dead guyss! It's just...I wrote an actual book. It's like, for sale and everything. And that was a little intense so my fanfics got scooted to the side. I actually wrote this in Physics class...haha I'm so proud. It's just...After AP Calculus, I don't want to hear my Physics teacher teach math. It's just not as good as calculus. So I teach myself Physics on my own time and do this in class. It's preeeettty awesome. Enjoy guys :)**

_Pop. Six. Squish. Uh-uh. Cicero. Lipschitz._

_He had it comin', he had it comin', he only had himself to blame…if you'd have been there, if you'd have seen it, I bet that You would have done the same…_

I guess I've always been known as a pretty artsy guy.

Movies.

Books.

I dig 'em.

Art?

Yeah, I dig that too.

So I took art in school. Okay, not the _tuffest_ of things. But that's fine. I got over the publics' general opinion of me a while ago.

The teacher, Mr. Lipschitz, liked me.

I guess.

And I liked him, too.

I guess.

I guess he liked how I was a little…

different.

We got somewhat close, I guess. He helped with my technique.

He appreciated my art. Views. Me.

I appreciate the company. Class. Criticism.

To an extent.

I s'pose he didn't _appreciate_ about the way the gang harassed the Soc crowd in his class.

How they would skip out to fight.

How his precious gallery was affected.

How I was the only one to complete his masterpiece sculpture.

How I was a Greaser.

I guess that's why it was so easy for the chisel to slip from my hand.

I guess we "broke up" because of artistic differences.

_He saw himself as alive…and I saw him dead._

_They had it comin', they had it comin', they had it comin' all along_

'_Cause if they used us, and they abused us,_

_How could you tell us they we were wrong?_

**Okkk...now REVIEW! Cuz this is IT! Last chapter! :)**


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